Zoids: Origin of an Enemy
by NeoAurora
Summary: It began with an assassination, and now everything has changed. For when a new terrorist group begins its genesis, it pushes the Guardian Force to its breaking point. In the aftermath, however, an enemy is born. Read to Discover.
1. Prologue

**Zoids: Origin of an Enemy**

**ゾイド：ゴーストプロトコル**

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><p><strong>—Prologue—<strong>

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><p>It was a cold night, frigid. No clouds covered the starry abyss above, casting a soft light from the pair of moons. Nothing moved. It was silent; not even a whisper. The Ghost kept his eyes remained focused, for there would be no mistakes; he didn't make mistakes. A ledge he sat atop, scrutinizing his target. A lone estate stood out in the night, its warm interior lights glowing. It was shameful luxury, but it didn't matter to him.<p>

It never did.

A rucksack he removed from his back, unzipping it. He retrieved a monocular, holding it over his left eye. A world of emerald and black flashed on as the scope adjusted to the night. He examined the main entrance—four guards armed with semi-automatic rifles.

The outer perimeter entrances were held tight by a pair of dark-armored Rev Raptors. They were armed well, equipped with weasel units. It wouldn't be easy, but it never was. Complicated it would be. This only made him smile, for he liked complicated.

He lowered the monocular from his eyes, feeling his Data Pad vibrate. Taking it, he viewed the incoming message. The screen flashed, displaying a photograph of a man. He must've been in his late sixties; thinning gray hair, barbered beard, and serious eyes. There was no name, and there never was. It was always just a photo, nothing more.

Satisfied, he returned the monocular within the rucksack, then pulled out a disassembled rifle. It took less than thirty seconds to assemble—a personal best. He took the clip in his hands, inserting six rounds with glass-like tips. The magazine was shoved into the empty slot until it clicked.

Lastly, a silencer was inserted over the barrel. He went to the tip of ledge, took a knee, and placed the scope over his eye. The Rev Raptors were motionless. He aimed low, targeting the joints. When the rifle was leveled, he squeezed the trigger twice. The rounds struck the unsuspecting Zoids, shattering the glass-like tips. Miniscule barbs sunk into the metal, sparkled once, and sent in an electromagnetic pulse.

Both Rev Raptors powered down instantaneously, but remained upright. The cockpits went dark and the pilots were in limbo. They tested their Zoid's responsiveness. Nothing happened. COMs were gone as well. The clock started. It was time to move. He disassembled the rifle again—another thirty seconds. Silently, he went down the side of the ledge, jumped down onto the frozen ground, and sprinted full speed toward the Raptors. He kept running, not tiring.

At this altitude, he could run for half a mile before his hands started shaking. He finally reached the Zoids, taking a pair of thumb-sized canisters in his hands. Once activated, he tossed one of the canisters into the Zoid's ventilation system. The canister's top blossomed open, causing the white smoke to be sucked into the Rev Raptor's air intake. Inside the cockpit, the smoke began to be vented in, engulfing it. The pilot inhaled, coughing violently. Blood began to foam in the corners of his mouth as his lungs practically burst in his chest, killing him. The second pilot suffered the same fate.

The Ghost was moving now, making his way to the estate's western sector. Two guards were posted at a secondary entrance way, conversing lightly with one another. He went low, concealing himself against the night. Waiting for a moment, he studied his surroundings before engaging. There, just above the guards, was a camera. He drew his firearm, a Walther P99.

Ejecting the clip, he inserted another with pellet-like rounds. He twisted on a silencer, aimed for the camera, and fired. The pellet hit the camera, magnetizing to it. From his position, the Ghost took out his Data Pad, syncing with the transmitter he fired.

The Data Pad's screen flashed, displaying what was being shown from the camera's angle. No mistakes would be made. He recorded the camera's viewpoint, including the soldiers below. When he was done, he looped the video; the recording would play continuously, showing the guards at their post. He sent the doctored video to the transmitter.

Finished, he swapped clips again. Like a predator, he stalked forward, raised his pistol, then fired. A round coughed from the gun, striking one of the guards in the head. Before the second soldier could react, everything went dark. He went over to the dead guards, crouched low, and checked his Data Pad. The camera's point of view had remained looped; the guards were still there.

With that, the operative gently twisted the doorknob and opened the door. A warm sensation from the A/C hugged his freezing body. It felt nice; a pleasant change from the conditions outside. He silently closed the door behind him, staring down a beautifully decorated hall. The hardwood beneath his boots seemed exceedingly expensive, while the handcrafted carvings along the crown molding were over the top.

In its entirety, the whole place resembled a palace. Business must've been booming. But the breathtaking view was short lived. Security cameras—four total—were mounted on custom pillars that lined the hall. When they moved, he moved.

There was a staircase to his left, so he took it. The walls supported photographs of the target and his family, but he didn't look at them. Anything of sentimental value had to be ignored. He continued up the staircase, bypassing the second story. Schematics showed that the master bedroom was located on the third floor, second door on the right.

So he remained a phantom, reaching the desired level. The operative leaned out, exploring both ends of the hall. There were four soldiers total—two posted at the halls end, two guarding the door to the master bedroom. This would indeed be interesting. He slid a flashbang from his gear, snatched out the pin, and rolled it at the guards as he walked into the plain sight.

The flashbang detonated behind him, intensifying the light sensitive cells the guard's eyes, temporarily blinding him. While the latter guards were immobilized, the operative neutralized the remaining two guards before the bedroom door before they could even raise their weapons. Just as he motioned to reload his P99, the guards behind him regained their sights.

"Stop! You stop right there! Put your weapon down!" shouted the first soldier.

The Ghost glanced behind him, the second soldier raising his assault rifle; his eyes reddened from the flashbang.

"You heard him," barked the second guard. "On your knees!"

The soldiers began approaching. He nodded, having total compliance. Gradually, he began to drop as he relinquished his gun. When the first soldier came near to grab him, the Ghost catches the guard's wrist, snapping it while simultaneously striking the second guard in his throat. He kicked the soldier across the face as he dropped, spun around, grabbed the first soldier's throat, and slammed him into the floor.

The operative went for his gun, bashing both men across the face with its handle. He looked up, staring into the lens of a camera. A mistake. With a reloaded pistol, the man hurried down the hall, reaching the master bedroom door. Rotating red lights in the ceiling began shining, alarm sounding. Quiet time was over.

He kicked open the bedroom door, forcing his way inside. The man—his target—was on the opposite side of the decorated room, aiming his own firearm. The target fired two rounds as the operative dove for the floor. He rolled once, aimed his P99 under the bed, and shot the target's foot. The older man wailed, falling over. His foot bled profusely, soaking into the custom, beige weaved carpet. The target looked up, staring into a pair of dark auburn eyes.

Before he could cry out for help, a trio of _"phftts"_ sounded. Three entry wounds—head, heart, gut.

It was done, and it was time to go. A clad of footsteps could be heard approaching the bedroom. The Ghost moved. He removed his rucksack, clicked something inside, and tossed it on the bed. He broke a nearby window beside the bed climbing out onto the fire escape.

Swiftly, he motioned down the zigzag stairs before jumping twenty feet to the ground below. He rolled, allowing the impact to ripple through his body. By that time, the soldiers entered into the master bedroom. They were too late. Their leader was sprawled out on the floor, dead in his own blood. But there, resting on his bed was a rucksack. A soldier went to it, opening it. He winced as red light flashed green.

The pack detonated.

The operative watched the flames brighten the night sky from the ledge where he stood before. Fire choked with smoke rolled from the windows, incinerating everything inside. He palmed his Data Pad, coding in that the target had been neutralized. A pair of sapphire eyes burned in the night behind him, emitting a glow, reverberating growl.

Turning his back to the burning estate, a Zoid motioned in the moon's light. The soft light reflected against a dark-armored König Wolf. It lowered its down to him, unfastening the cockpit. The hightly trained covert assassin leaped inside, fastened the harness around his body, and watched the cockpit seal around him. The König Wolf howled into the night sky, turned aside, and disappeared into the night.

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><p><strong>Neo's Note:<strong> _Greetings! It's yours truly, NeoAurora. I bring you the latest installment in my Zoids FanFiction campaign – Zoids: Origin of an Enemy. This project took months in the making, for the idea had yet to fully develope in my mind. As the title states, this fic is indeed the origin of an enemy. But who's the enemy? Slap this fic on your Alert and find out._

**-NeoAurora**


	2. The Rebellion

**Zoids: Origin of an Enemy**

**Chapter I**

**—The Rebellion—**

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><p>The air was tense. Explosions detonated, followed the chatter of automatic gunfire less than two kilometers out. Soldiers of the Guardian Force hurried civilians out of the village, loading them up inside troop transport vehicles. Modified Command Wolves stuck with the vehicles, escorting them to the distant Whale Kings that would airlift them to safety. Nearly sixty percent of the city's civilians had been evacuated, leaving the rest panicking in the streets until it was their turn.<p>

They had to move faster. Time was running out.

One of the Whale Kings began lazily ascending skyward, preparing to blast its engines. Suddenly, a quartet of guided missiles streaked across the clear sky, swerved left, and struck the Whale King's prow, starboard turbine, and stern engines. The metal sizzled and popped, reducing the armor to molten smears.

A mixture of fire and sparks coughed from the impacted areas as shreds of debris showered down below. The Whale King lost twenty meters, tried to level off, then failed. It circled left, took a nosedive, and crashed into the earth. A brief flash of light occurred as the aerial transporter erupted.

Groundside, the once secure perimeter had been breached. A trio of gunmetal grey Zaber Fangs stormed the village. All had turned to chaos. Civilians fled, running for shelter or anything they could find. The Zaber Fangs motioned through the streets, tearing buildings down with their 30mm Double-Barreled Beam Cannons. Building materials exploded, raining down in chunks.

The Command Wolves of the Guardian Force sprung into action, abandoning the transport vehicles to engage the enemy. They aimed their weapons toward one of the charging Zabers, unloading onto its position. The Tiger-type Zoid went left, ducking out behind a building that was stitched with gunfire.

In a blur, the Zaber came running out from behind the building, slashing is claws across one of the Command Wolf's face. Its orange visor was shattered, and before the Zoid could fall to the ground, the Zaber Tiger blasted it through the cockpit with its beam cannons. The headless GF Zoid collapsed to the ground as the Zaber continued its onslaught.

It sunk its fangs into another Command Wolf, shook its head, and severed its neck from the shoulders. The Zaber spat out the head of the Zoid and raised its paw to crush the pilot inside. As the paw began coming down, a pair of golden claws wrapped around the Zaber's shoulders and pulled it down to the ground. The GF pilot forced open his eyes, setting them upon a blue Blade Liger rising up from the dirt.

A smile went across the warrior's face.

The enemy pilot brought the Zaber Tiger to its feet, preparing to unleash his fury onto the dead man who dared to cross his path. From the perspective of Lieutenant Van Flyheight, the feeling was mutual. The Zaber went for the Blade Liger, mouth agape to sink its fangs into the Liger. Van toggled the controls, evading the enemy's initial strike.

As the Zaber Tiger went by, the Blade Liger set its claws upon the crown of its head and shoved it into the ground, snapping its right fang. Van pivoted the Blade Liger's left laser blade forward, surged ahead, and pierced the blade through the tiger-like Zoid's mid-section. The Zaber Fang cried out boisterously, its emerald eyes fading as its Zoid Core had been gored.

Van slid the laser blade from the inward parts of the enemy Zoid, watching it spit sparks and fluid from the wound. The Lieutenant finished off the terrorist Zoid, running its blade through the cockpit. His motion sensors suddenly signaled, informing of an incoming ordinance. Van gazed skyward, patrolling an explosive shell that dove for his position. The Lieutenant exhaled in annoyance.

In an instant, the shell vaporized everything within its twenty meter blast radius. Buildings were cleared from their foundations, while even the dirt roads were swept down to the clay. A second Zaber Fang came to the fore, heavily armed with a CP-02 Assault Unit.

The pilot watched from a distance, waiting patiently for the smoke to clear. He was confident. No Zoid could survive a blast like that at such close-range. The pilot, however, swallowed his inclination. There, the Blade Liger emerged from the smoke with its energy shield deployed.

The modified Zaber Fang growled in frustration, sharing its pilot's emotions. It took a wide stance, anchoring itself into the earth as it prepared to unleash its entire arsenal of missiles and torpedoes. The Lieutenant braced himself.

The pilot locked onto the Blade Liger, running his finger along the trigger to fire. Just as the terrorist unleashed his barrage, his Zoid was capsized, sending his missiles and torpedoes in aimless directions. They detonated the surroundings at random, while the others burned out and dropped. Fragments of buildings and parked vehicles spun over and around the Blade Liger.

The Zaber's pilot tried to lift his Zoid, but a great pressure kept him down. He looked up, seeing that he'd been pinned down by a Dibison. The Zoid hooked its horns into the Zaber Tiger's gut, raised its powered, and launched the enemy Zoid into the sky. It took a wide stance, aimed forward its 17-shot Megalo Max Assault Cannons, and fired.

In a flash of sun-like light, the soaring Zaber was hit dead center by the concentrated beam. Its body was broken apart, eventually causing it to erupt in mid-air. Like a flaming comet, the enemy Zoid streaked across the sky, being propelled by the force of the Dibison's cannon. It landed beyond the village, clearly out of sight.

Lieutenant Thomas Richard Schubaltz scrutinized his radar system, searching out the final Zaber Fang. Despite displaying the Blade Liger, the enemy Zoid had vanished from both physical and technological sight.

_'Interesting,'_ Schubaltz pondered as he accessed his TEAMCOM. "Enemy went stealth, Van. What's the play?"

Van examined the village, seeing nothing but gutted buildings and blazing fires. A Zaber Fang would easily tower those buildings, so it must've engaged its stealth systems. But where was it?

"Activating thermo imaging," Van announced to Thomas. "If it's out there, then like any Zoid, it's going to give off heat."

A grid appeared before Van's dark eyes, mapping out the entire village. The fire burned a red-orange ambience, while the interior buildings displayed a bluish tent. It was strange. The Zoid didn't appear at on all thermo.

"Great," Van sighed. "It's not showing up, Thomas; must be an upgraded stealth system."

Thomas twisted his mouth in thought. Indeed it was, for all Zoid radiated a measure of heat. However, if a Zoid had been installed with some type of rapid coolant unit, then it wouldn't generate heat at all.

_'Clever,' _Thomas praised inwardly.

As Thomas went to relay what he had discovered, a fired round passed through one of the nearby windows clanged off the Dibison's left Crusher Horn.

"Sniper!" Van exclaimed. "Get low."

The Blade Liger and Dibison hunkered down as low as possible. Thomas allowed himself to breath. That was too close. If it wasn't for the Dibison's horn, the round would've pierced the cockpit—and Thomas—through and through.

"Stay low, Thomas. This sniper's got talent," Van instructed, his breathing heavy.

"I'll say," Thomas replied, looking where the round had landed. "BEEK, analyze."

The augmented AI chirped in response. It broke down the structure of the modified bullet, explaining anything and everything about it. It was about the size of the Dibison's horn if it was straightened out. The business end was serrated with minuscule explosives underneath each barb.

In theory, the round would impact its target, tear open its armor with the explosive, and shred sensitive circuitry and such with its barbs. Thomas concluded reading the text that BEEK sent to him, summing up his own hypothesis.

"Van, prep your thermo. When that Zoid fires, BEEK will tell you exactly where it is."

"Thermo doesn't work, Thomas," Van reminded the Imperial Lieutenant.

Thomas grunted at Van's reply. "That Zaber's firing modified rounds, which generate high levels of heat."

"How do you know this?" Van questioned, ready to poke holes in Thomas's explanation.

"It nearly melted through the Dibison's horn! Rounds like that burn at least two hundred degrees upon being fired. That'll heat the end of the weapon's barrel…"

"Thus giving away its position," Van finished.

"Exactly," Thomas confirmed.

"I'll draw its fire. You and BEEK just give me location when that Zoid fires," Van ordered.

"Done," Lieutenant Schubaltz acknowledged.

With that, the Blade Liger gingerly turned aside from facing the Dibison, coiled its hind legs, and readied itself. Van exhaled his reservations and pushed forward the controls. The Blade Liger sprung into a swift sprint, sticking close to the buildings to added protection. Now that his target was out in the open, the sniper went to work. A round went through a glass window, nearly grazing the Blade Liger's visor.

Van's heart nearly skipped a beat.

He kept moving toward the village's center. Its bell tower was tall and wide enough to conceal the Blade Liger, just long enough for Thomas to get a fix on the sniper's location. Another round was fired two seconds later, scraping the paint off the Liger's left shoulder armor. Van swore under his breath. This sniper was too good; but the weapon's rate of fire was two seconds per shot, so the Lieutenant had to use that brief window wisely.

He sped into the village's center, motioned the Blade Liger in a power slide, and swung around behind the bell tower. The sniper had fired again, hitting the tower instead of the Liger. A clump of crumbled bricks rolled out across the ground from the impact. Van wiped the sweat from his forehead that had dripped down in his eyes. That was three shots, so its weapon had to be running hot.

"Thomas, you got a lock?"

There was a brief silence over the COMs. Van didn't like it.

"Negative," Thomas finally replied. "BEEK hasn't zeroed in on it yet."

Van groaned in annoyance. "It shot at me three times!"

"I'm guessing its weapon has a coolant system as well. I'm sorry, Van, but this guy's a vet; and he's got the tech to prove it. BEEK's got a grid laid out now. If he fires again, we'll know."

The Republican Lieutenant geared himself up, clutched the controls, and darted out from behind the bell tower. The sniper fired, hitting the tower but missing his target.

"Locked!" Lt. Schubaltz announced.

"Give me coordinates," Flyheight demanded, guiding the Blade Liger into cover.

"BEEK's sending them now."

A grid unfolded before Van's screen, marking the Zaber's position in red. It was located just beyond the village's rolling hillsides. The Zaber Tiger had concealed itself at the base of a hill, obscuring all but its weapon. Now that it had been found, the task now was just getting it to engage in close-range combat.

"Thomas, cover fire!" Van barked.

"Copy," replied the Imperial Lieutenant.

With the assistance of BEEK, Thomas locked onto the Zaber's general position, primed his dual eight-shot missile pods, and fired. A salvo of missiles screamed skyward, arched downward, and bombarded the targeted area. The Blade Liger engaged its ion boosters, speedily making its way over to the enemy Zoid.

The vibrations from the bombardment disrupted the Zaber's stealth shield, causing it to malfunction and die.

"You're mine now!" Van shouted, diving his Liger into the Zaber Tiger.

The Blade Liger drove its claws against the Zaber's face, tearing away its facial armor. Both Zoids went down to the ground, laying a few meters from one another. The Zaber stood up first, pivoting its weapon to fire. Van rolled the Blade Liger onto its feet, just before the enemy Zoid fired where he had been. He released the Liger's left laser blade, looking to sever the Zaber Tiger's weapon.

As he went forward, the enemy Zoid head butted the Blade Liger in its chest, repelling it. Van wouldn't give in. He flared his Zoid's ion boosters, broke free from the Zaber's hold, and ran the laser blade through its left front leg. The injured leg sparked, buckled, and caved in.

As the Zoid began to fall, Van doubled back, lined himself up right, and shoved the blade into the Zaber's open maw. He jerked right, severed its bottom jaw, and swung around with the right laser blade, and sliced away the back mounted sniping unit.

Critically damaged, the Zaber Fang collapsed under its own weight, command system frozen. Lastly, to finish the job, Van discharged the Blade Liger's shock cannon into the cockpit. The Lieutenant reclined in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose—crisis averted.

Despite the damage done to the village, it could've been much worse. In the past six months, this had been the fourth terrorist attack on Republican soil. They usually attacked small colonies, seizing them overnight. Residents in the colonies weren't given grace periods. When they struck, they killed everyone without mercy. The terrorist group had yet to identify themselves, but their gray-armored Zoids were unmistakable.

Whoever they were, they were beginning to become a serious problem for both the Republican and Imperial armies. At that moment, a disembodied voice bellowed through the cockpit, snapping him back into reality.

_"Lieutenant Flyheight, this is Guardian Control." _

"Go ahead, Control," Van complied.

_"Incoming message from Colonel Herman. Standby, Lieutenant." _

Van waited patiently as the Dibison made its way over in front of the Blade Liger. A shuffling noise spilled through the COMs as Colonel Herman's voice was heard faintly in the background. The link cleared, silencing the noises.

_"Van, this is Colonel Herman. I need a sit-rep, son."_

"Enemy contacts neutralized, sir. There were three Zaber Fang units. I believe they're affiliated with the same terrorist group," explained Van.

_"Casualties?"_ Herman followed up.

Van looked over at the burning wreckage of the Whale King that was shot down. He frowned. "Heavy, sir. They shot down one of our Whale King with the bulk of the village's civilians inside. The rest of them are waiting on the outskirts for transport."

Colonel Herman sighed heavily at the news. Civilian casualties were always a blow, for they depended on the Guardian Force for protection from such calamities. If the civilians didn't feel safe, then the purpose of the Guardian Force felt hollow.

Colonel Herman cleared his throat, squeezing the disappointment from his voice. _"Transport's en route for the civilians. I want you and Lieutenant Schubaltz to remain there until they arrive. When that's done, report back to Command."_

"Understood, Colonel," Van agreed, and the link went dead.

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><p>—Echo City, Central Continent of Delpoi, Helic Republic Embassy—<p>

He had been standing in line for five minutes now, slowly shuffling along through the long line at customs. Like instinct, he scanned the room—the perimeter, the people. A pair of locals stood before a desk clerk, explaining the loss of their passports. He glared at a security camera in the room's corner as it captured everything. Cameras? He'd had enough of them to last a month.

"Sir, you're next," a cold voice spoke.

He looked up, staring at a female clerk that was waving him over. Bag in hand, he proceeded toward her. She gave him an icy glare, already ill-tempered from the mid-afternoon rush.

"You're a Republican citizen?" she asked.

"Yes," he quickly spoke, matching her tone.

The clerk gave him a look, but he dismissed it.

"Passport, please."

He unzipped a small pocket in his bag, reached inside, and retrieved the small navy blue booklet. The clerk took it, opening up the leathery cover, flipped it horizontally, and read its contents.

_NAME: Enderle, Jacob _

_NATIONALITY: Helic Republic _

_PLACE OF ISSUE: New Helic City, Delpoi_

Satisfied, the clerk approved him and stamped it. "Welcome home."

The man, the Ghost—_Jacob Enderle_—returned the passport to his pack, zipped it up, and passed through. He went through the glass doors, feeling a gentle breeze against his skin. It felt good to be home again, but he'd soak it in later. He hailed a cab, got inside, and departed for his home. Echo City was a moderately-sized city, just five hundred miles from New Helic City.

Despite a cluster of skyscrapers in its downtown district, no building towered over three stories. It was an industrious city, a pleasant homestead for on-the-go individuals. To Enderle, it was perfect. He was another face among the crowd, a low-key operative that would blend.

The cab came to its destination. He handed the driver a few bills, got out, and headed for the apartment complex. Its exterior was elegant but cold. Enderle went to the locked entrance, fumbling through his pack for his key. A directory was at his right against the wall—five names, one apartment per floor.

By the time he set his hands upon the keys, the door opened. "Mr. Enderle," greeted the concierge.

She was sixty, plump and proper.

"Welcome back, sir. How was your trip?"

Enderle didn't hesitate. "Active."

The concierge nodded, having a chilly disapproval of his answer. She returned to her desk, giving him a warm smile. He gave a light smile, went up the winding staircase, and reached the fifth floor. The operative came to his door, inserted the key into the doorknob, and went inside.

It was a huge, rambling flat—large entry hallway and large rooms beyond that. The floors were a light colored hardwood, flowing with the obviously expensive apartment… but cold and impersonal. There were no photographs, no mementoes, no human history. Everything was clean and simple. Jacob passed the living room, going into his study. A desk sat in front of a cold fireplace with bookshelves beside it. It was stocked with binders, reference materials, and bound volumes.

He went over to the desk, accessing the phone for messages. None. With no messages or directives, the operative went to his bedroom. The layout remained simple—bed, closet, dresser. A queen-sized bed was in its center with a dark navy spread above white sheets and pillows. He tossed his bag on the bed and suddenly paused as a sensation struck him. A shadow formed against the doorway.

"I don't recall giving you a key to my apartment," Jacob said, turning around.

A woman stood in the doorway—dark brunette, icy blue eyes, lightly tanned skin, and frameless glasses. She walked into Enderle's room.

"I made a copy," she said, her British accent strong.

The woman took a seat in a chair in the corner of the bedroom, crossed her legs, and stared at him. "I saw the news. A little overkill, don't you think?"

The operative didn't blink. He turned away from her face. "You come to grill me or is there something else?" he deflected. "Polanski sent you?"

The woman nodded. "He wanted me to bring you in … _personally_."

"Is there a definitive reason?" Enderle retorted, growing irritable from a lack of sleep.

"You know I can't say. I'm just following orders," she stood. "Get cleaned up. Our plane leaves in an hour."


	3. A New Threat

**Zoids: Origin of an Enemy**

**Chapter II**

**—A New Threat—**

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><p><strong>Neo's Note:<strong> _Just a minor change, people. The main character's name has been changed from Ethan Keyes to Jacob Enderle. Yes, another flip-flop. It'll make sense down the line. New to this fic, then disregard._

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><p>Director Georg Nylund kept sharp focus on the video monitor in a conference room. It was a news conference as nations discussed the recent events that took place on the Dark Continent of Nyx. A man was speaking now, a foreign political suit. Translators hovered nervously around him, tactfully distributing his words.<p>

He was livid, speaking outrageously against both the Republican and Imperial nations. He turned the channel, viewing the next leading story of the afternoon. The terrorist attack that occurred in the southern region of the Republic was also booming.

Nylund removed his frameless glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with sealed eyes. It could've been worse. As Director of the Guardian Force's Special Operations Division [SOD], his responsibilities were numerous. Generally considered the most secretive unit in the Guardian Force, the SOD was responsible for covert operations that included covert political action and paramilitary special operations. An industrious and secretive life Nylund lived, but it was his job.

The Director turned aside from the video monitor. Ten SOD bureaucrats sat around the black, oval-shaped table like children in detention. Their heads were down, nervously pushing documents back and forth.

One in particular—Operations Director Nathan Polanski.

Nylund took the remote in his hand, pausing the video.

"That's Val Raab speaking in Europa the day before yesterday. He's been speaking abusively about the Helic Republic and Guylos Empire, demanding either of the nations to take responsibility for what happened in Nyx. If any of you aren't aware, a known terrorist—Xavier Kreutz—was found murdered in his home nearly a week ago. Kreutz was a known member of the disbanded terrorist group known as Terra Geist.

"He was just one of the known leaders of this organization, and we've been looking for him for quite some time. However, orders were given to both the Republican and Imperial Guardians that if Kreutz was discovered, he was be apprehended and relocated to one of our facilities _alive_. As you've heard, he's _not _alive. Raab claims that soldiers who survived the disaster witnessed an assassin who infiltrated Kreutz home. I informed General Kruger that I don't anyone that reckless on my senior staff."

Polanski face remained emotionless. It was news to him, but his hands suggested otherwise.

Nylund continued. "With Kreutz dead, we can longer capture him for possible intel about these terrorist attacks. On that note, another attack took place in a small village here in the Republic. These acts of terrorism are becoming bolder and more frequent. We have our hands full here, people. Neither nation has come forward, so I'm assuming it's a shakedown. I want to know if there's any shred of truth in Raab's accusation."

There was a long pause, and no hands went up.

Director Nylund set his eyes upon the ten, exhaled, and gestured his hand in the empty air. "Back to your tasks, people."

The bureaucrats emptied the conference room quickly. Polanski was the last to leave, stole a glance at Nylund, and vanished.

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><p><em>—Operations Division—<em>

It was a deep, inner office—unlabeled and anonymous. The center was hidden deep within the Guardian Force Headquarters. Several rooms were linked together like a suite. The staff was moderate, having only twelve individuals. All was quiet, but they were busy. A trio of video monitors were at the fore—one large screen in the center, while two smaller ones were at its side.

Evan Daniels stood in the rear of the dark center—early forties, stone cold façade, and Polanski's number two. He checked his watch, set down his mug, and exited the center. Daniels motioned through the suite, making his way to Polanski's office in the back.

The Operations Director was in his office, staring into space. He was a buttoned down man. Everything in his office was tucked away. A courtesy knock snapped him out of his daze. He looked up, staring through the glass door.

Daniels leaned into his office. "They're waiting for you."

Polanski blinked once and nodded. Daniels opened the door again, waved out in the hall, and held the door open. The brunette woman walked through first, having a dark portfolio in her right hand. Enderle walked in after her as Daniels sealed the door. Polanski stared at them.

"I understand it's highly irregular for us to meet like this, but these are extenuating circumstances." He gestured to the chairs that were before his polished credenza desk. "You can sit."

The woman sat, crossing her legs. Jacob sat down next to her, his posture straight.

Polanski looked at them now. "Storm clouds are gathering. It looks like rain and the Guardian Force has nothing to wear."

The woman quirked her brows. "What are we talking about here, sir?"

Polanski frowned. "We're talking about Nyx. We're talking about Kreutz. I want to know what happened."

The woman—Aria Ackart—was puzzled. She assumed the mission was a success. It was done. Kreutz was dead. What was the problem?

"Kreutz was the target, was he not?" Enderle finally spoke, nearly catching Polanski off guard.

"Yes, Kreutz was the target. But you screwed the op. Survivors linked you to Kreutz. Since when do you leave survivors and render the target barely recognizable?"

Jacob stared at him.

"Yes, I read the report," Polanski continued. "Kreutz's body was found disfigured and scorched. A bit exaggerated, huh?"

"All due respect, sir…"

"I'm not on you yet," the Operations Director interjected, scolding Ackart. "Nylund's not happy about this. The Guardian Force wanted Kreutz alive. They needed any intel they could about these terrorist attacks across Zi, and Nylund believed Kreutz was the key."

"The objective was to neutralize the target. It's done," Jacob replied.

Polanski interlocked his fingers, feeling the pressure drop in the room. "Not to my liking. Yes, Kreutz was supposed to be killed, but it wasn't supposed to be us. He should've been killed in a way that the only possible explanation is that he was killed by his own people. That's how terrorist operate. They're opportunistic." Polanski got onto Ackart now. "And _you _should've known that. You're head of Logistical Operations, are you not? Is there a reason that piece of intel wasn't given?"

Aria pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "We we're flying outside the Triangle Daras. Our link with Jacob must've been disrupted in transit."

Polanski's lips tightened then relaxed. "Of course." He massaged his wrinkled forehead, keeping his dark eyes closed for a moment. "Nylund's undoubtedly going to put together an oversee committee. I can't deny that we deployed a team to Nyx, but we've got plenty of high-priority targets hiding out there, so we'll go with that. No nation has taken responsibility yet, so we're still well below the radar. But Kreutz was just the start. His allies are probably already scattering, but we'll find them. Enderle…" Jacob met his superior's eyes. "Get back to Echo City and stay off the grid, but don't get lazy."

"Sir!" Jacob agreed, standing to leave.

Aria stood up with him, but Polanski stopped her. "A word, Ms. Ackart."

Aria gestured to Jacob. "Wait for me outside."

The operative beckoned, leaving. Alone, Ackart returned to where she had sat. She stared into Polanski's serious eyes, waiting whatever he needed to say.

"How is he?" the director asked.

"Enderle?" Aria inquired, assuming that's who they were discussing.

"Yes."

"No change," she replied. "There aren't any deficiencies. I'd give him a green light."

Polanski looked at Ackart's hands. "You're holding that portfolio pretty tight. It's been three years and you've yet to encounter a problem. That worries me."

Ackart loosened her grip as she stood. "He's different from our other operatives. There isn't a problem. Are we done?"

The Operations Director reclined back in his seat. "We're done."

* * *

><p>The Blade Liger and Dibison entered into a sub-section of the hangar. Soldiers below guided them in, directing them to their appropriate stalls. Van leaped down from the Blade Liger as Technician Officers began running their assessments on his Zoid. Thomas remained close to the Dibison, syncing his Data Pad with BEEK so they'd stay in contact. As the artificial intelligence made its link with the palm-sized device, a message appeared before the screen. Thomas touched the "open" icon, watching a small window unfold. He read the message, reading,<p>

_"Report to the command center –Colonel Herman." _

The Imperial Lieutenant gestured to Van. "Colonel Herman wants to see us."

"Immediately?" Van groaned, ignoring his growling stomach.

Thomas pierced Van with his eyes. "When I was but a mere Private in the Imperial Army, when a superior officer asks for you, you…"

"Okay, okay," Van surrendered. "Just save the 'when I was but a mere Private' monologue, please."

Thomas shook his head with a sigh. Van had so much to learn.

The Lieutenant Guardians pulled themselves along the bright, pristine hall of the base. Fellow colleagues passed them by, hurrying to their respected tasks. The Guardian Force had been working overtime since the terrorists began their sudden assaults. It was impossible to predict where they'd strike next, and this worried the Guardian Force. This needed to be dealt with before it got out of hand.

As the warriors turned to corner to enter into the command center, Thomas's heart began flutter. "Fiona" Elisi Linette leaned against the wall before the command center's entrance. Zeke was by her side as she waited patiently. Before Van could react, Thomas pushed him into the nearby wall as he proceeded toward the blonde Zoidian.

"Ms. Fiona! How glorious you are this afternoon."

Fiona gave a warm smile, shaking the Lieutenant's hand as her large, soulful eyes swept across Thomas's eyes into Van's.

"Thomas," she greeted, oblivious to his advancement.

The Imperial Lieutenant grumbled inwardly, cutting his eyes up at the organoid. "What are you looking at?"

Zeke tilted his head with a soft growl.

Van pushed himself up off the wall, giving Thomas a dark glare before Fiona stepped into his viewpoint.

"Good, you're here. The Colonel's waiting."

The Zoidian took Van's hand, leading him into the command center as Thomas and Zeke followed. A rush of abstract sound struck the Lieutenant as he entered into the center. It was reverberating and discordant, bouncing off the concrete walls around them. Reflections of overhead fluorescence flowed like liquid along the multiple active console screens. People dressed in military fatigues motioned back and forth across Van's vision, going about their business as if no one had entered.

Colonel Rob Herman reacted the opened doors of the center, relieved to see Van and Thomas standing there. He stepped down from the raised stage-like platform, going over to the Lieutenants.

"We got a hit!" Herman announced.

"Of what kind, sir?" Lieutenant Schubaltz inquired as Van slyly departed from his side.

Herman went over to one of the Techs, pointing to one of the three video screens above the raised platform.

"Give me the weapon data on one."

A detailed image of a Zoid's weapon came up on the screen. Van returned beside Thomas, munching on a buttered roll he swiped from a colleague's station.

"What are we looking at, sir?" Van asked, sucking the crumbs and buttery flavor from his thumb.

Thomas rolled his eyes.

"_That _is a specialized sniper weapon. It was mounted on that Zaber Tiger you fought today. Our specialists have been analyzing it all day."

A system analyst returned to her station, scanning her desk. "Who the fudge stole my bread?"

Van turned his back, stuffing the roll in his mouth. "It's significance?" Van squelched, swallowing the lump of bread.

"That weapon was a prototype designed by the Republic. Its contents were sealed until it was to be revealed. This weapon was designed with the power to put down a Gojulas with a single shot. Any smaller Zoid would be metal paste. So, and this is the only question, why was that weapon in enemy hands?"

Van and Thomas exchanged facial expressions, assuming the Colonel didn't expect an answer from them. Herman turned away from their eyes, facing the same Tech again.

"Enhance the image; nineteen by twenty-two."

The Tech pecked across his keyboard. Van, Thomas and Fiona looked up at the central screen. The image was brought in close, real close. To clean up the distorted snapshot, the Tech cleaned it up, revealing a serial number along the weapon's barrel.

"That serial number tells us exactly where that weapon was manufactured. Our allies in Spec Ops were able to track this number back to its original location, and it led us here…"

A detailed gridded map was displayed on the video screen, highlighting a remote region in the Eastern Continent.

"This is the original location where we manufacture our classified weaponry. Twenty hours ago, that facility was raided and nearly destroyed. There were few survivors."

The map changed, moving across the Deldaros Ocean and into the Eastern Continent of Europa. A near-remote location in the Elemia Desert was spotlighted, enhanced via satellite imagery, and revealed multiple snapshots of a compound hidden in the canyons.

"_This_ is _not _ours," Herman continued.

Thomas folded his arms, scrutinizing the position of the compound. "That's Imperial territory, sir. Could it be one of our facilities we abandoned after the war?"

"We've shared this intel with the Empire, and it's not theirs," the Colonel confirmed. "Satellite imagery shows that that compound has been newly constructed. But that's not all, gentlemen… and Fiona."

One of the snapshots was enhanced, revealing one of several soldiers in the photo.

"We believe that these terrorists are responsible for what happened to our facility in the Eastern Continent. They've stolen our classified weaponry and have begun using it against us. This is real, people; and we believe he's the culprit."

A photo a man flashed onto the screen. The man's face was strong, having a square jaw. His dark was jet black with graying regions around his temporal lopes. Overall, he was an intimidating man with serious eyes. Colonel Herman pointed to his picture.

"This is Samuel Bandero, a highly dangerous and elusive terrorist. He's responsible for multiple counts of terrorism and for him to be captured in this photo are all the proof we need. This is a big lead, and we need to jump on this. President Camford has given us authorization to track Bandero down bring him in… alive.

"If we succeed, we squeeze every bit of information out of him before he's executed. Take a good look, warriors, cause he's your target. It's time for some payback. At 0600 tomorrow, you're headed for the Elemia Desert. Your mission is to raid that facility for our stolen intel, destroy their compound, and seize Bandero. We've contacted the Imperial Army, so they'll be assisting you in this. This is too important to let slip through our fingers, people. Understand?"

"Sir!" Van and Thomas saluted.

Colonel Herman beckoned once. "Then let's get to it."

* * *

><p><em>—Echo City—<em>

Headlights swept through the night, flaring white as a mixture of brake lights pulsed red. The sounds of the city echoed about: car doors opening and closing, the babble of multi-lingual citizens. Jacob relaxed silently in his bedroom, soaking in the solace that he desperately needed. He tried to sleep, but it was a losing battle. For the first time in a long time, something didn't feel right.

He kept rewinding the conversation he had with Polanski. The Guardian Force wanted Kreutz alive, but his mission suggested otherwise. It didn't matter. Enderle completed his missions mechanically, without knowledge of his subjects' identity or the crimes they had allegedly committed. It was his way of life, so why question it.

In the dead of silence, however, Jacob's data pad vibrated across his end table. He stared at the buzzing device for a moment before retrieving it. The operative touched the "Incoming Task" icon, opening the file. A few stanzas of texts rolled down the screen, reading: ELEMIA DESERT, EUROPA. COORDINATES - 34° 36′ S, 58° 23′ W. HIGH PRIORITY OP. IMMEDIATE ACTION NESSESARY.

Jacob got up quickly from his bed, went over to the armoire, and opened it. He crouched down underneath the hanging clothing, moving a metal lock box that was set in the corner. The soldier removed the reinforced lock and flipped back the lid. It was a shallow tray on top, containing multiple driver's licenses, credit cards, several contact lenses, a knife, a comb, a few sticks of gum, sunglasses, and an expensive watch.

Enderle ignored the lesser material and he lifted the top tray, exposing a deeper cavity inside. There was money, and plenty of it. Ten thousand dollar stacks of hundreds were neatly piled. Beside the money was his P99 and off to the side with a few spare clips, in addition to three more passports. He took the trio of passports in his hand, sifted it through them, and selected one with a blood-red cover. Jacob peeled back the cover, studied the contents, and started packing for his departure.

* * *

><p><strong>Neo's Note # 2:<strong> _Not much going on, but you get where this is going. Besides my OC's name change, there really isn't much more I want to tell you. But keep reading, for the plot gets deeper._

**-NeoAurora**


	4. Counter Strike

**Zoids: Origin of an Enemy**

**Chapter III**

**—Counter Strike—**

**第3章：カウンターストライク**

* * *

><p>Colonel Karl Schubaltz stood outside in the blistering heat, patiently watching a Guardian Force Hammerhead touchdown onto the landing pad. An immense military base was stationed behind him, its layout similar a metropolis' downtown district. Each building was about two stories, the tallest being the four storied command center. To deter mobile infantry, the entire facility was surrounded by a five meter high fences that held enough electrical currents to fry a Zoid's systems and the potential of sending a human into severe cardiac arrest, or death.<p>

The Hammerhead eventually settled on the octagon-shaped landing pad, extended its ramp, and powered down the engines. Van, Fiona and Zeke descended down the ramp, hefting small packs of personal affects until they returned to the Republic. Thomas pulled up the rear, sporting a larger rucksack of the numerous materials he'd used while during his tour in the Republican Guardian Force. He, for one, was relieved to return home. The Helic Republic was tolerable, but it didn't beat the feeling of Imperial soil beneath his boots. Thomas gaited around Van and Zeke, quickening his pace to reach his brother.

Karl remained where he was, hardly ecstatic about seeing his little brother again. Thomas had been assisting the Republican Guardians for six months now, an abnormal span of time for an Imperial soldier. But with all the terrorists attacks concentrated mostly in the Republic, it was no shocker that he'd be on loan for a while.

Thomas adjusted his pack's strap on his shoulder, using his free hand to salute his brother. "Reporting for duty, Karl."

The Colonel growled. "Six months away from home and you've yet to address a superior officer properly."

Thomas nibbled on the side of his tongue in annoyance. "My apologies, ... _Colonel_."

Karl simply stepped aside from his subordinate, moving to greet the others. Van performed a crisp salute to the Colonel, marginally pleased to see him again. Since the defeat of Hiltz and the Deathsaurer, Karl had been heavily involved in the Imperial Army's Anti-Terrorism Division. The tragic events that took place during Hiltz's onslaught only fueled the devoted Colonel more. As a result, Colonel Schubaltz had become an invaluable asset alongside the Imperial Guardian Force, assisting them whenever possible.

The Colonel gave a light nod, acknowledging the Lieutenant and the Zoidian. "Pleased to have you with us Van, Ms. Fiona."

Zeke whimpered, feeling neglected.

Karl sighed. "Hello, Zeke."

"The pleasure is ours, sir," Van responded, quickly bypassing the formalities. "When will we be underway?"

"Soon enough, Lieutenant. We'll drop via Hammerhead just outside their perimeter, then we'll take them out. I understand President Camford wanted Bandero alive, yes?"

Van nodded once. "Just until he possibly gives up any intel we can use."

Karl shook his head in disagreement. "That's a shame. A man like Bandero should be executed on sight, but we'll follow your President's wishes. I can't promise you anything, I'm afraid. We will take Bandero out if capturing him becomes a problem. We refuse to allow this man to escape from our grasp again. Understand?"

"Yes, sir; no promises," Van agreed.

Colonel Schubaltz broke away from Van's dark eyes, glanced at Thomas, and began walking away from them.

"Store your gear and get prepped. We move in two hours."

* * *

><p>Jacob passed through customs, receiving a stamp of approval in his passport. He tucked the scarlet-colored booklet in a newly purchased rucksack, pushed through the clear glass doors, and went outside. The harsh afternoon sun hit against his dark shades, reflecting the light from his auburn eyes.<p>

He sported a casual dark brown jacket, a fabric resembling close to leather; underneath, a dark charcoal fleece that hugged his upper torso like a wet suit; and lastly, likewise charcoal tactical utility pants with heavy-duty work boots.

From the standpoint of an average passerby, he was no different than the hundreds of people, and that was the idea. The operative waited patiently near the sidewalk, watching a variety of vehicles drive by. An inconspicuous car pulled alongside the curb, its left back door opening. Ackart stepped out and stood beside the car. The message was clear, and Jacob followed it. He got in the car beside Ackart, just as it pulled from the curb and into the street.

Aria sat silent for a moment as she uploaded a photo of Bandero to Jacob's PDA. Enderle examined the received photograph, memorizing the target's facial features. He returned the device to his pant pocket and kept his eyes forward.

"Polanski wants an evaluation," Ackart said.

Jacob briefly cut his eyes against her profile, then looked away. "On who, me?"

"Yes," responded Ackart as he pulled out the black portfolio.

She opened it, displaying several sheets of stacked paper. The first sheet revealed general information—Jacob's photo, date of inception, height, weight, previous occupation. Ackart placed that piece of paper aside, overlapping it with another. She felt her body shift as the car angled onto a street.

"I can schedule a session for next week," Aria said, writing Jacob's name into a time slot. "Friday afternoon?"

"Fine," Enderle quickly answered.

The car made another turn, moving into the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse complex. It made its way across the broken asphalt, bypassing the smaller storage buildings and headed for the larger, multi-storied warehouses. The car eventually stopped before the largest of the warehouses.

Aria glanced at Jacob, gesturing to the rusty garage-like door. "Your König Wolf is inside. Its weaponry has been modified since your previous op. Polanski doesn't want this going askew."

"Any specifics?" Enderle asked, curling his fingers around the door handle.

"Just keep it clean," Ackart replied as she checked her watch. "Better get moving. Your target's a popular one."

Jacob jerked the handle, got out of the car, and watched it speed away. He flipped his rucksack onto his back and walked toward the old warehouse door. Its ends were rusted, while it was lifted three feet off the ground from a previous motion malfunction. He ducked underneath the door, entering inside the warehouse.

Amongst the severely neglected surroundings, his König Wolf was the cleanest object in the room. The operative stepped through the hordes of crumbled paper, overgrown weeds, and shattered beer bottles. Sensing his pilot's presence, the König Wolf's eyes lit up. It advanced to him, gingerly lowering its head with an open cockpit.

Jacob climbed inside, securing the harness around his body. A waiting text log throbbed on his central monitor, having a "play" symbol in its center. Keyes initiated the log, reading its contents. In detail, the text log explained the König Wolf's new weapon—the CP-23 Assault Unit. It consisted of a prototype Vulcan Pulse Laser Rifle that doubled as a sniper rifle. In addition, it possessed a three-shot Linear Cannon. Overall, the weapon was a lethal piece of weaponry. It was surprisingly light, a feature that wouldn't hinder the König Wolf's agile nature.

Jacob gave a nod of approval, so it was time to get moving.

* * *

><p><em>"We drop in two minutes, people! Keep it tight and watch your angles!" <em>

Van heeded Colonel Schubaltz's command over the COMs. He double-checked the Blade Liger's systems, making sure everything was at a hundred percent. This was a high priority mission, so everything needed to run smoothly. A picture of Samuel Bandero was posted on everyone's monitor, a constant reminder of what was at stake. There were a total of twenty Zoids that were prepped and ready in the hangar of the Hammerhead, consisting of mainly of Red, Dark Horns and Rev Raptors.

The Blade Liger and Dibison were ahead of the pack, serving as secondary field commanders under Karl. Within the cockpit of the Dibison, Thomas rolled his neck and shoulders. This was going to be large engagement, so the Imperial Lieutenant wanted to be loose and ready.

Terrorist were interesting enemies to fight against, for all bets were off. They ranged from seasoned vets to suicidal fanatics. And it wasn't a shock for one of them charge for you with the intent to take their own life in exchange for yours. From what Thomas had studied about terrorist Zoids is that the bulk of them were constructed with self-destructive devices. Caution had to be taken.

The Hammerhead began to descend over the drop zone, a desert plain of endless dunes and isolated canyons. Sunlight suddenly spilled into the bay as the hangar's exit/entrance hatch began lowering. A shower of sand rushed inside by the wind, crackling against the armor of the Zoids. The Hammerhead got as low as it could and decreased its speed dramatically.

_"Time to drop, warriors! Go, go, go!" _

At once, the Blade Liger charged for the edge of the hangar and jumped out with Zeke coasting beside it. The remaining Zoids followed suit, leaping from the Hammerhead's aft and into the desert sand below. When all the troops had been deployed, the Hammerhead sealed its hatch, gained speed and altitude, and vacated the area.

The Colonel's voice soon crackled over the COMs, instructing the warriors. _"You're two kilometers out from the strike zone. Head east and keep a low profile." _Karl switched to a private channel, isolating Van and Thomas. _"Keep me posted, Lieutenants." _

"Sir!" they complied in unison before Van keyed his SQUADCOM, spamming all the warriors. "You heard the Colonel, so let's move!"

The squad of Zoids headed east, holding fast to Colonel's Schubaltz's orders to stay below the radar. Van and Thomas advanced ahead of the pack, keeping fifty yards between them and the rest of the squad. The crowd of Imperial soldiers brought up the rear, shuffling at a brisk, jog-like pace from a Zoid's standpoint. It was slow going, but if the warriors thundered recklessly through the desert, it would undoubtedly kick up clouds of sand and give away their position.

At the pace they were going, it would take at least twenty minutes to reach the target zone. Nearly two kilometers into the vast wasteland, the scenery began to change. The mounds of dunes gradually began to thin out as the ground beneath them turned to rock.

A small canyon, measuring just a mile and a half in distance, was anchored a good seventeen meters in a crater-like depression in the sand. The canyon was roughly reddish sandstone, having a measure of arch-like formations and small plateaus. Van magnified the Blade Liger's zoom on its visor, surveying the land for any sign of the facility the terrorist had built.

"Thomas, triangulate the enemy's position. I want a 4x4 perimeter grid of their base—weaponry, personnel, and strike points. Get all of it."

The Imperial Lieutenant transferred the request to BEEK, using the AI to gain control of the GF's satellite in orbit over the strike zone. BEEK synced with the satellite, gathering the intel Van desired from the servers. The information downloaded to BEEK as it began designing a grid to Van's specifications.

When it was done, the AI chirped to Thomas.

"It's finished," the younger Schubaltz informed.

"Send it to me," Van responded.

BEEK wired the intel to the Blade Liger's central monitor, and Van began to study it. It was a simple layout in design, having just one solitary building. Settled in the middle of a jungle of stone formations, getting a lock on individual enemy Zoids would be a hassle. However, no fortress was impenetrable. There were obvious openings between the pillar- and arch-like rock formations.

A couple of well placed sharpshooters would create the ideal ambush spot. Van highlighted the desired points, checked the roster of ally Zoids, and selected a trio Imperial Zaber Tigers armed with long range cannons.

He sent the altered grid to them.

"I want you three warriors at these points. Select a target and hold it. Don't fire until I tell you. Get moving!"

The Zaber Fangs departed from the group, using the rocks to stealth their approach. When the sharpshooters got into position, Van promptly radioed them.

"Give me a visual, somebody."

_"Transmitting…,"_ responded one of the warriors.

Van and Thomas's central screen crackled with white noise before eventually pulling into focus. A group of enemy Command Wolves guarded the facility and was armed with lethal Weasel Assault Units. In addition, Heldigunners crawled about in an uncoordinated fashion. Lastly, for heavy support, a Gordos was stationed outside the base's entrance.

From the looks of it, it was mainly stationary, for its feet were fitted with foot locks. This for good reason, for the Zoid was armed with high-powered cannons that you'd normally see mounted on a Gojulas unit. Along with that, it was fitted with two, eight-shot missile pods.

Thomas whistled over the COMs, commenting, "That's a lot of heat."

"That's why it's going down first. I don't think it can move, so that can work to our advantage," said Van.

"Not if we get hit. It's got enough firepower alone to take the legs out from under a Gojulas. We better play it cautious, just in case," Thomas suggested, though his tone sounded otherwise.

Van couldn't disagree with the Imperial Guardian; one shot from those cannons would spell disaster. But a couple of cannons weren't going to deter Van, not from the mission. Flyheight contacted the sharpshooters, instructing,

"The Gordos is the target. Aim for the cockpit."

_"Copy that, Lieutenant,"_ the Zaber Fang unit complied.

The Saber Tigers moved into position, each one setting up shop in the highlighted regions on their map. They all aimed for the Zoid's dinosaur-like head, focusing mainly on the cockpit. At that moment, while Van surveyed the land, motion caught his attention. He raised his eyes skyward to where he saw the movement, landing them upon a single onyx-armored Gun Sniper.

Aside from its dark armor, however, its tail had been reconstructed. Instead of the standard 144mm sniping weapon within its tail, it had been replaced with the prototype sniper rifle Van and Thomas had faced before. And with it being positioned so high, it had a perfect vantage point over the entire area.

'_Ah, crap,' _Van mentally groaned. "Zaber units, you're to fallback immediately! I repeat, fallback n…"

The Gun Sniper fired, planting an explosive shell in the head of one of the Zaber Tigers. Sparks and flames swirled into the air as the Zoid's head shattered in a whirlwind of metal. Its body collapsed to the ground before it rolled down the incline it was standing on. The shot gained the attention of the enemy Zoids groundside.

Van folded in his lips, thinking on what to do next. Now that a sniper had entered into the mix, the risk of moving out into the open had risen even more so.

Thomas, though, had already beaten him to it.

"Listen up, people: we got a sniper on the facility's rooftop. Use the rocks for cover and stay out of the open until the Lieutenant and I deal with it. Until then, concentrate your fire on the Gordos. Anything else that gets in the way is just another casualty. Move out!"

The Imperial Zoids executed Lieutenant Schubaltz's command and leapt down into the shallow depression toward the rebel base. The enemy Command Wolves and Heldigunners opened fire, dispensing ammo into the rock formations the Imperial warriors hid behind.

As ordered, the Dark and Red Horns armed with Gatling guns focused the majority of their gunfire on the Gordos, while the Rev Raptors handled the Command Wolves and Heldigunners. Meanwhile, the Blade Liger kept on the move, refusing to allow the sniper to land an easy shot. Van cut his dark eyes at the Gun Sniper, watching its modified tail pivot and fire at unlucky Imperial Zoids.

"You got a plan to down that Gun Sniper, or were you just excising your authority?" Van scoffed.

"I'm thinking, so give me a minute… idiot," Thomas retaliated.

The sniper fired another shot, taking down another Rev Raptor. It turned again, lined down its sights, and sent a round through the cockpit of a Dark Horn. And as the Gun Sniper continued to pick off friendly forces, the AI operated Gordos became active. Its computer highlighted the enemy Zoids, listing them as hostile.

The cannons on its back began to move, angling to fire. Van looked away as the intense light from the cannon's discharge flared. By the time his vision focused in, the shots had leveled the stone formations the Dark and Red Horns were behind. The Imperial Zoids that were affected were buried underneath tons of broken rock, crushing any chances of survival.

"We're losing men, Thomas," Van messaged. "That Godos and Gun Sniper will single handily overpower us."

Lieutenant Schubaltz piloted the Dibison out into the open and faced the building. "I'm on it. BEEK has studied the structure of the facility, isolating its weak points. A few precise missiles will send that Zoid tumbling to its demise."

"The target's in that building," Flyheight reminded. "That attack could potentially kill him."

"A risk I'm willing to take. If my calculations are correct—and I know they are—this _will_ work. Now, provide me some cover fire. I'll be a sitting target unless you distract it."

Van clinched his jaw, disagreeing with his ally's strategy. But if it would rid the battle zone of the sniper, then he'd comply.

* * *

><p>All the while, however, the entire spectacle was being observed from afar. Jacob studied the movements of the Zoids below from atop a distant cliff. He scrutinized the blue Blade Liger as it strafed from side to side, dispensing inaccurate gunfire at the enemy Gun Sniper.<p>

To the right, a Dibison had suddenly fired eight missiles from one of its eight-shot missile pods. The SOD operative followed the trails of white exhaust with his eyes, watching them impact the roof's edge where the Gun Sniper was positioned. Streams of glass showered down on the Godos below, while the integrity of the top floor was severely compromised.

The Gun Sniper fought to keep its balance, but its immense weight atop the weakened structure was too much. It crumbled underneath the Gun Sniper's feet, giving the pilot no time to react. The Zoid, along with slabs of concrete and metal, went tumbling off the side building, seemingly falling to its death. When reached the building's mid-point, its boosters flared to lessen the impact. The Gun Sniper hit the ground hard, and Jacob saw its joints buckle and spark.

The fate of the Gun Sniper had been sealed, for the Dibison angled its 17-shot cannons and let loose its arsenal. Kuhn glanced away from the defeated Gun Sniper, keeping his eyes locked on the building's exits. Bandero was somewhere inside, and the moment he showed himself, it would mark his end.

It was then that motion occurred in the building's rear, catching the assassin's attention.

Twin bay doors slowly parted a Molga units pulled out a modified Gojulas out into the open. It looked expensive, for its weaponry of top-of-the-line and lethel. But the prize had finally showed himself. Bandero arrogantly strutted out into open, being escorted by armed allies. He fired a few hand signals to his men, gave them direction, and headed back inside the base. The Gojulas was lowered down from its wheeled platform, primed for combat. Jacob deactivated the König Wolf's weapon systems. The scheme would have to change.

* * *

><p><strong>Neo's Note:<strong> _So, it's been a minute since I've uploaded a chapter to this fic. Been neglecting it lately. Writing strictly about Zoids: GF is more difficult than I thought it would be. I'll try to get the next chapter up soon, but it's all depending on this organic computer between my ears. If it shorts out ... eh. In case you're wondering, the CP-23 Assault Unit it's not a real weapon in the Zoids Universe. Leave a review and tell me what you think._

**-NeoAurora**


End file.
